


Diamonds are a boy's best friend

by Xelamz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Sugar Daddy, fake boyfriends, to real boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xelamz/pseuds/Xelamz
Summary: A fake sugar daddy becomes a real sugar daddy.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	Diamonds are a boy's best friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Lonely_Light](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lonely_Light/gifts).



> For The_Lonely_Light! I'm sorry I'm late but I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> My editor crapped the bed on me so there may be some strange formatting issues. I've gone through carefully and tried to fix everything, but if there are lingering problems please tell me and I will edit.

Gabe lounges on the couch on the side of the tailor's dressing room, watching as a middle-aged gentleman inspects McCree from head to toe. The tuxedo he's wearing is top of the line bespoke ware, and costs about twice McCree's monthly salary. The cost is worth it. The cut accents his chest, waist and thighs just enough to look trim but not too tight. McCree lets the tailor tug and prod, a look of patient suffering on his face, until he catches Gabe's eyes in the mirror.

"What are you grinning at? Do I look that stupid?"

"You look fine."

McCree doesn't seem to believe him. He gives himself a suspicious appraisal in the mirror. "I don't look like myself."

"That's the point."

The tux is for a mission, one in which they'll have to hob knob with the rich and well connected. For Gabe it's no problem. He has a choice of tuxedos back in his apartment, and it's not the first time he's infiltrated high society. For McCree it's going to be something of a challenge. He's proven himself a deft agent in many respects. He can recite the training manual by heart at this point, knows how to ingratiate himself with mobsters and the seedier elements of society, can fight himself out of every situation they've put him in, and has finally figured out that sometimes spurs aren't conducive to spy work. But he's never been asked to interact directly with high value targets before. This mission is going to be something like a test, and Gabe expects that Jesse will do fine. Not without a whole lot of complaining on his end, though.

"Does this damn suit really gotta be so tight?"

"It's not tight, it's form fitting, and if you're going to look like someone with their finger on the trends of fashion, you need to be wearing a fashionable suit."

"Damn thing costs an arm and a leg, and it isn't even comfortable."

The tailor huffs, like an insulted artist. "Sir, I can assure you this suit will provide you full range of movement. And it will be more comfortable if you don't move about while I'm making final adjustments."

McCree stills, reading the order for what it is, but he hasn't stopped scowling into the mirror. Gabe is surprised he's taking to the tux so poorly. He's certainly been asked to do much more odious things than this in the course of his career.

"What's the matter? You look handsome."

The comment gets Gabe a look that's half betrayal, have dismay. Another odd response, considering how praise motivated McCree is. The mission they're preparing for isn't overly dangerous, but failure could set them back significantly. This isn't the time to be having doubts about Jesse's fitness for his role.

"Seriously, McCree. What's the problem here?"

"No problem, jefe, just not a fan of this getup is all."

"Well this getup costs two thousand dollars, so you'll have to endure it."

McCree huffs, but a spark of his usual mischievous nature flickers in his eyes. "If you're gonna spend that much money on me it's a shame I'm not ending up with something I like."

"We get this job done right I'll get you some cowboy boots that are just as expensive."

That perks McCree right up, and for the rest of the fitting he's all sweetness and light to the tailor. He reminds Gabe of his promise when the fitting is over and the two of them make their way back to base.

Even though Jesse's been with Blackwatch for a while now, there isn't much that he can call his own. He started with less than nothing, having owed the government a large portion of his future wages as payback for the theft, property damage, terrorism, and trafficking that he would likely have been found guilty of had he ended up in front of a judge. And the money that makes it to him after his wages are garnished is a modest sum that he's only started earning in the past couple years as he's come out of probation and qualified as a full fledged member of the organization. It doesn't matter so much. There's enough for small niceties, and Overwatch takes care of the rest, providing the gear, room and board, training and education for free. Considering what could have been his fate, it's a lavish lifestyle he's living, and McCree seems to get that. He's never complained at least, and the work keeps him busy enough that even if he did have a ton of cash to throw around he wouldn't have much time to enjoy any of it. Even so, he's been working hard for a long time, and Gabe figures he could use a bit of a break. It's one of the reasons he picked McCree for this job. It's going to be as much a vacation as it is an op, and considering the stipulations on McCree's travel, this is the closest he's going to get to a vacation in a while. 

The plan is simple: attend a gala as the wealthy investor Mark DeSantis and his boy toy Randy Newsome (Jesse insisted on the name), chat with the crowd, make note of attendance, prod for weakness, and place a few bugs. Jesse's inexperience at high society parties is meant to be a boon. If people think he's little more than Gabe's sugar baby they won't see him as a threat and might open up more about sensitive information.

A few days before the op Gabe takes Jesse out to get the last few things to finish up his outfit. 

"Consider this a dry run," Gabe says as he drives them into town. "Play it like we're in the field, so we can get a feel for how to work things when we're on site."

Jesse's glances at Gabe, his lips quirked into a knowing grin. "That mean I get to call you daddy?"

Little shit expects a reaction, but Gabe isn't some amateur. With how often McCree throws prodding little flirts his way he'd be a fool not to expect this. So just as casually as Jesse had been he replies, "That's right." The smirk wavers on Jesse's face and Gabe swears he can see a flush creeping up his neck as he turns his attention back to the road. Maybe he shouldn't be playing chicken with one of his agents, but he never pretended to be a good person.

Their first stop is a jewelry store for cuff links and a tie pin. Jesse is more interested in this than he was the suit, looking over all of his options with seriousness as Gabe follows around patiently. There are cuff links of every shape and style available, from the simple and refined to obscenely gaudy. Jesse unsurprisingly drifts over to the latter end of the spectrum, pointing out diamond shaped cuff links with diamond encrusted faces, platinum and ruby skulls, and then with a great deal of excitement, he comes across a pair of pistols, with two very large, very real diamonds playing at being grip screws. It's damn ugly, and very much in line with Jesse's sense of style, to Gabe's chagrin. 

"Well, papi?" Jesse says, giving Gabe his best puppy dog eyes. "How bout em?"

Gabe glances at the other end of the display case, where the simple bars and studs are resting. Jesse follows his look and pouts. "C'mon, you promised you'd get me whatever I wanted."

Gabe promised no such thing, and McCree knows they have a budget. It's not hard for him to pick up the tone of a long suffering boyfriend when he replies, "Maybe for your birthday, babe. This is going to be for business. We need to make the right impression."

"Well," Jesse grumbles, "if my opinion means nothing..." He shuffles over to the other side of the display case and frowns down at the less gaudy options. Even knowing they're playing parts Gabe is half tempted to give in and get the pistol links anyway, even if it meant they wouldn't be able to afford the airfare to the gala after. The shop attendant glances between the two of them with a worried look. They're supposed to be selling the fact that they're a couple with some problems, and they seem to be pulling it off. At the op it'll give McCree an excuse to feed people bad intel as a frustrated lover looking to get petty towards his sugar daddy. 

A few minutes later they're walking out of the store with what they came for, and after grabbing a pair of dress shoes that Jesse seems much more inclined to be happy with, they're on their way back to base.

It's not unusual for drives with Jesse to be quiet. He might enjoy getting himself into trouble, and he might have a mouth on him, but there's a stillness in his spirit that Gabe recognized soon after he arrived in Blackwatch that makes him comfortable in long silences. Gabe isn't much of a chatter himself, so that's typically been a good thing in his opinion. But there's something in the atmosphere this time that's unsettling him, as if something is on the edge of going FUBAR but he hasn't been able to identify the threat yet. He usually trusts that instinct. It's what's kept him alive this long, after all. But this time, there's a problem.

Gabe is attracted to McCree. At first it was just realizing that he had become a strong, capable, and very handsome man, which was easy to dismiss as just a physical reaction. But as the weeks and months and then years went on he found the depth of his attraction growing, until the only thing it could be called was a full grown crush. The entire time he had made it quite clear to McCree that he was completely and totally uninterested in any of the flirtatious suggestions McCree had sent his way starting from the very day of his capture. And McCree had never seemed very serious about it anyway. He flirted with everything that moved, and had managed to find a lot of romantic company even with the restrictions on his life that Overwatch imposed on him. The whole thing was easy enough to compartmentalize, and it had never affected Gabe's work.

Until now, that is. Gabe glances at McCree, who's leaning his head against the window as he watches the road with a distant expression on his face. Gabe can't tell if it's the mission that's getting to him, or if something really is off about McCree, and if it's just him projecting and he says something stupid he risks tipping his hand. Maybe McCree is just thinking of those ugly-ass cuff links,

and that's why he looks so wistful. Yeah, he tells himself. That's probably it. 

The gala is two days later. After a final briefing to solidify their cover story and run through the guests they expect to interact with, it's time to suit up. Gabe checks and rechecks his gear, then shrugs into his tux. After a check in the mirror to confirm that all is as it should be, he makes his way to the lobby, where their limo will take them to a mansion twenty minutes away. Jesse is already there when he arrives. He frowns when he sees Gabe coming towards him.

"Is there something on my face?" Gabe asks.

"Nah," Jesse says, smiling again. "Just didn't realize you clean up so pretty."

"You saying I'm wasn't pretty before?"

"Nah, no, course not," Jesse says. He seems genuinely flustered, and Gabe rolls his eyes. 

"Alright, time to get serious. Once we're in that limo we're on the job. Understand?"

Jesse gives him a halfassed salute. "Loud and clear."

Gabe trusts Jesse to be professional, but that sense of foreboding is still there. Maybe he shouldn't have done this to himself. He didn't think playing at being a couple would be that much of a challenge. It isn't the first time he and another agent had to do something similar, but maybe the dumb feelings he's been holding for McCree are stronger than he expected. Oh well, he tells himself as they shuffle into the limo. He'll deal with the fallout later. Now is time to get to work.

The beginning of the night goes according to plan, at least. Gabe is introduced as a wildly successful war profiteer, and Jesse as his struggling artist boyfriend. Jesse has never exhibited an artistic bone in his body, but he leans into his ignorance, pontificating on the virtues of primary colors and how one identifies the aura of a painting, solidifying in the minds of everyone within hearing distance the impression that he doesn't have much to offer beyond a pretty face and an easy disposition. Gabe loves it when Jesse bullshits like this. The man can talk out of his ass for hours on end, and fifteen minutes into a spontaneous lecture on how found materials are always more morally pure than exchanging money for the tools of one's art, he realizes he's just been standing next to Jesse and smiling like an idiot instead of properly cataloging the guests present. A touch to Jesse's arm gets his attention.

"I'm going to get us some drinks, babe. What would you like?"

"They got a whiskey, neat?"

"I'm sure they do. I'll be right back." He leans in and gives Jesse a peck on the cheek, and leaves.

As Gabe makes his way to the bar, he glances back. Jesse's still got five people listening in with interest. One of them actually seems to be nodding along to whatever it is that he's saying. The rest look half amused and half scandalized. One of them, a man around Jesse's age named Cedric Frasier, is one of the priority targets for the night. Preliminary intel indicated a boastful nature and a parade of model boyfriends. Gabe had picked Jesse for the mission in part because he would be excellent bait for a man like Frasier, and it seems like his instincts there were correct. 

When Gabe comes back with McCree's drink McCree lays the act on thick. He leans heavy into the drawl as he bites his lips and gives Gabe a lidded smile. "Aw, darlin', you're so good to me," he says. And then he winks, the fucker. Was this McCree's idea of taking the op seriously? The other guests give Gabe confused looks and Gabe realizes he's been thrown off. 

"You're very welcome, honey," Gabe replies, and gives McCree's ass a friendly squeeze.

To McCree's credit he doesn't end up throwing the whiskey out of his glass, though he only just manages to prevent himself form tossing it straight at Fraiser. Gabe being around will just keep Jesse from his work, so he excuses himself again. "I'm going to go talk some business. Why don't you relax and make some friends?"

McCree throws a glance Fraiser's way, and from the grin Fraser gives back it looks like he's picking up what Jesse's putting down. 

Thirty minutes later they rendezvous in the back garden and find a quiet spot to trade notes. "Problem is we got him too good," McCree says. "He wanted a quick fuck in the bathroom right then and there. I told him he's gotta buy me dinner first and after that all he wanted to talk about was how rich he was."

"He drop any names?"

"No, but he says he's got private islands. Might let me come visit a few if I'm lucky."

"Well, that's a start. Good job so far. Let's get back to he party before we're missed and see what else we can scrounge up."

Three hours later everyone has loosened up significantly. The alcohol has been flowing. Jackets are coming off and voices are rising. An impromptu dance party has erupted along the pool. People are making out on couches. Music has erupted from multiple sound systems, turning the gala into a into a cacophony. For a black tie event Gabe did not expect things to turn frat party so quickly. He dodges and weaves among the crowd, planting a bug here, chatting up a target there and fishing for leads, looking for a few hooks that might turn into bigger catches down the road. As far as surface intelligence goes this has already been a success. He's spotted a number of suspected terrorists chatting conspiratorially with businessmen who hadn't been on Blackwatch's radar previously, seen enough infidelity to double Blackwatch's kompromat file, and he's gotten two shady business propositions from people who have been fooled in thinking he's an unscrupulous investor.

Gabe hasn't seen Jesse for a while, and it's about time the two of them had a little tiff. The plan is to get into a fight over "Mark's" infidelity and earn "Randy" some sympathy with the other plus ones. He threads his way around the crowd, peeking into room after room, until the unmistakable boom of McCree's voice leads him to a dining room, where he finds McCree trying to teach a group of women how to line dance on the table. His tuxedo jacket is swung over one shoulder and the thumb of his free hand is tucked into his belt as he swings his hips and claps his shoes on solid marble. His bow tie is half undone, as is his shirt, revealing a sliver of tan chest. The ladies to either side of him are laughing as they try to follow his steps with varying degrees of success. His hair has somehow managed to free itself of the pomade meant to tame it, and swings like a mane every time he turns around. If the sheen of sweat on his brow is any indication he's been going at it for a while. He's pacing himself for the benefit of his students, but it's clear in every thrust and stomp that he's in his element. He looks like he's genuinely enjoying himself. Gabe has never seen Jesse dance before. It's entrancing. His treasonous mind wonders if he'll ever get a chance to see this in a more private setting, where he doesn't have to put up a front for an audience and he can drink in his fill of Jesse's body and energy without interruption. 

If it weren't a mission he'd leave Jesse be, but they have a job to do.

"Babe!" Gabe shouts over the the din of the party. "What are you doing?"

"Just teachin' these fine ladies the art of the hoedown. Come join us!"

"You're going to break your neck. Come down from there." Gabe holds a hand out and waves Jesse towards him. Meanwhile Jesse hasn't paused a beat. 

"Can't," he says, "'m dancin'." 

"I can see that. Come down off that table, honey."

In a flash Jesse goes from nonchalant to furious. "Don't honey me, _babe._ How come it's always got to be what you say? How come what I want doesn't account for anything? Why can't I just have somethin' for my own for a change?"

This is... not how the fight was supposed to go, exactly, but Gabe has no choice but to roll with it. "That's not true. We're partners. You know I love you."

"Buuuull shit," Jesse spits. The dancing has stopped completely. Everyone in the near vicinity is watching now, enjoying the free show, and on the pulpit that is the dining room table Jesse is giving it to them. "All you want is a yes man that does as he's told and wears your boring clothes and kisses your ass day in and day out. You don't care a wink about me, you just want something pretty on your arm you can show off."

"Randy..." Gabe growls, giving McCree a look very clearly meant to convey that he is not amused by this particular ad libbing. "Are you drunk?"

"I'm bright eyed as a baby doe. How come the only time you ever look at me is when I'm not bein' myself?"

One of the ladies on the table puts her hand to her mouth. Jesse's a good actor. Gabe would trust him to lie his way into Quantico. But something tells him its not Mark that Jesse is talking to right now.

"We'll discuss this when we get home," Gabe says. "Now get off the table."

"Fine, whatever you say, jefe."

In two steps Jesse is hopping off the table, and the unsteady landing tells Gabe that he is, in fact, a little drunk. The whisky on his breath is another strong hint. The whole room is still watching as Jesse stomps off without giving Gabe a glance. One of the women on the table shouts at Gabe, "Good going, asshole!"

Mission successful, he supposes.

With the theatrics over the room quickly loses interest in Gabe, who slinks away the way a chastised boyfriend should. He plants himself at the outdoor bar and a handful of people come by to offer advice, scolding, and sometimes a bit of both. A couple men take their shot and suggest that they are willing to thoroughly console him after the party, which he politely and firmly turns down. He endures the chatter, filing a few offhand comments away for his report, and spends the time waiting for the end of the night drinking. Hopefully Jesse is spending the last few hours of the night more productively. Hopefully he isn't feeling as bad as Gabe is right now, wondering if what was said was real or just a part of the facade. 

The party eventually winds down and the crowd starts to pile into their cars. Gabe checks his watch. It's almost one AM. Officially the night has been a success. They've got material for multiple dossiers, and enough leads to keep themselves busy for the rest of the year. He should be pleased, but there's still some business to attend to. 

Gabe finds Jesse sprawled out on a couch, a pink cocktail half drained in his hand and two of the ladies from the hoedown session sitting next to him. If he was drunk when Gabe saw him last now he looks just the right side of trashed. He doesn't even seem to notice Gabe has entered the room, and it's one of the ladies by his side that sees him first. She gives him a glare that would have made Ana proud, stands up, and marches straight at him. Gabe is a little inebriated himself at this point, which is why he isn't immediately sure what to do when she jams a finger into his chest.

"Randy is a gem," she snaps at him. "I don't care how much you spend on him, if you don't provide for him _emotionally_ you don't deserve him."

"It's fine, Victoria," Jesse says from the couch. "I ain't mad no more."

"That's the _problem_." Victoria snaps back. "Don't let him walk all over you."

"I promise you," Gabe says, "I'm going to spoil him rotten after this." 

The look Victoria gives him tells him she does not believe him one iota, but she gets out of his way and lets him lift Jesse off the couch and wrap an arm around his back. He sets Jesse's unfinished drink down, waits for Jesse to say his slurred goodbyes, and then leads them out to the limo.

He waits until they're out of the half-a-mile long driveway before finally breathing a sigh of relief and starting to undo his own tie and cuffs. What a fucking night. For a milk run things got a lot more stressful than they needed to be. McCree is quiet with his eyes closed next to him. Gabe ignores the hint.

"Jesse."

Jesse grunts.

"How'd it go after the fight?"

"Went perfect. The ladies were falling over themselves tellin' me all their beaus' dirty secrets. Got some numbers too, and I'm willin' to bet a couple of em wouldn't mind playing mole in the future."

"Good job."

With his eyes still closed Jesse tips an invisible hat. Gabe rifles through the limo drawer for some Tylenol and water, which he pushes into Jesse's hands. Jesse takes them without comment and goes right back to feigning sleep.

"Jesse."

No response. Seems he's trying to dodge the issue, as if Gabe ever let him wiggle out of anything when he didn't want him to.

"You changed the script on me tonight."

Still no answer.

"It worked out fine," Gabe says, pushing, "but I got the sense what you were saying wasn't all for show. That isn't how you really feel, is it?"

"Nah," Jesse says, quiet. "It was an act, jefe."

"You called me that back at the mansion. What happened to 'daddy?'" 

Jesse turns his face to the window. Gabe sighs.

"I don't think of you as a tool, Jesse. And I don't just want you to conform. You know I value your input."

"Christ, Reyes, I _know_. It was an act, alright?"

"So you don't think I only look at you when you're not yourself?"

"I shouldn'ta said that," Jesse murmurs, so quietly Gabe barely catches it.

"I'm looking at you all the time, Jesse."

Jesse rolls his head around to look at Gabe, finally. The hope in his eyes is clear as day. The alcohol seems to have stripped his ability to disguise it. If Gabe were a good person and a little more sober he'd say something about how he cares about Jesse, and how he'll let Jesse call the shots more or something, and leave it at that. Instead he shuffles over, leans in until he's flush with Jesse's side, and cups Jesse's face with his hand. Jesse stares back at him, his eyes a little watery, and his mouth half open. Before he can reason himself out of it, Gabe leans forward and kisses him. His lips linger on Jesse's, just long enough for Jesse to come to his senses and shift under him, and then he's pulling away. Jesse's face is flushed. Gabe's probably is too. He stares at Gabe like Gabe has grown a second head for a moment, and then he's climbing onto Gabe's lap, diving in for a another kiss, and it's all Gabe can do but catch him. 

How many times has Gabe imagined just this scenario, his arms full of Jesse, the weight of him pinning him to the seat, his hands deep in the tangles of Jesse's hair, tugging and stroking, Jesse's tongue licking into his mouth like there's gold to be found there. It only takes half a minute of Jesse grinding his hips into Gabe's to get him rock hard, and the soft, needy sounds Jesse is making threaten to tip him over the edge. He manages to wrangle Jesse off him just before he ends up ruining his pants, but not without vocal protest. Once he's off Gabe's lap Jesse's hand goes straight to his thigh and Gabe's cock gives another twitch of excitement. 

"We're almost at the hotel," Gabe says. His voice sounds wrecked. Thank god the back seats are isolated from the driver's cabin. 

"Better hurry then," Jesse says, and tries to climb right back on Gabe's lap. This time Gabe pins him back down to the seat. 

"We're not doing this when you're that drunk. Tomorrow."

"Fuck, Reyes, you trying to give me the bluest balls in the universe or what?""Hold out eight more hours, and I promise I'll make it worth your while."

"If you think I'm gonna forget just cause I'm drunk-"

"I'll be expecting you. My room, 0900."

Jesse looks skeptical, but then they're rolling into the hotel driveway and Gabe is ushering Jesse out. The two walk through the lobby in silence, but in the elevator Gabe pins Jesse into the corner and kisses him senseless until they arrive at their floor. Jesse is mooning over Gabe as they walk down the hall, and tries to tug him into his room when they arrive, but Gabe stops him with a firm, "Tomorrow," and shuts the door. 

In his own room Gabe strips and hangs his tuxedo up, tosses off his shoes, and takes a long, thorough shower. He's making plans as he strokes himself, enumerating in his mind all the things he plans to do to Jesse when they have the time. He lets his imagination run wild, imagining Jesse tussled up in his tuxedo, dick peeking out of his fly, or completely naked save for that damn hat he insists on wearing almost everywhere. He doesn't have to dig deep to get himself off. The orgasm is bitter sweet, what with Jesse so close and so far, but Gabe is nothing if not patient. He towels himself off, slips on some boxers, and calls room service to extend their reservation a day and order brunch before collapsing into bed and falling asleep.

Jesse knocks on his door at 0900 on the dot. He's not looking half as confident as he did when he was trying to suffocate Gabe with his tongue the night before, but he still gives Gabe a cheeky tip of his hat, which has returned to its rightful place atop his head. Gabe steps aside to let him in and motions for him to sit on the hotel room's couch. Jesse does as he's told, looking more and more anxious by the second. 

"I have something for you," Gabe says, and pulls a shoebox out of his suitcase. 

The eagerness with which Jesse takes his present reminds Gabe of a kid at Christmas. He doesn't spare a moment to rip the top off and pull out a pair of detailed black boots. Skulls are blindstamped onto the heels and abstract shapes are embroidered over the surface. It's ridiculous, but its top of the line alligator leather, and, as Gabe had promised, they cost him two grand to commission and get shipped express. Jesse inspects their every detail, from the bottom of the soles to the stitching in the lining, his face an image of joy the whole time. He kicks off his old Overwatch issue boots and tugs his new ones on. "Well, aren't these _fine_ ," he breathes. 

"Got these too," Gabe says, and pulls out the second box. Inside are a pair of genuine, antique silver spurs. Jesse inspects them as closely as he did the boots, then looks at Gabe.

"Don't remember you promising me these." 

"Well, I felt like getting them anyway."

A look that could pass for consternation crosses Jesse's face. "You know I can't treat you nice like this..."

Gabe snorts. "I have everything I want. I got these because you earned them. And," he admits, "I like to see you happy."

"What a thing to say to a man," Jesse says, but he can't stop smiling. It's the same grin he gets when Gabe doles out praise, but amplified. "You know, when you suggested that whole "sugar daddy" angle I got the feeling you were exposing yourself a little there. I wouldn't be right about that, would I?"

"Very astute, Agent McCree."

"You gonna spoil me rotten, papi?"

Gabe snorts. "Only if you behave."

"Hm, no promises," Jesse says, and then he's climbing onto Gabe's lap like he'd never left it, the bulk of him overwhelming all of Gabe's senses. The tuxedo from the night before is long gone, replaced by nothing but sweats and a soft tee-shirt, which is easily bypassed. Gabe runs his hands up and down Jesse's warm back and flank, luxuriating in the swell of every muscle as McCree kisses him. Gone is the taste of fruit and vodka. Jesse tastes faintly of mint now, and Gabe licks into his mouth, encouraging him to suck and bite with huffs of pleasure. Jesse's hands roam his body like he's touching him for the first time, slow and reverent, but his hips grind forward with insistence. His cock is practically poking into Gabe's stomach from under his loose sweats. 

In one swift movement Gabe scoops Jesse up and stands. Jesse isn't a small man. He's built himself up significantly over his years in Blackwatch, but to Gabe he might as well weigh fifty pounds. Even though Jesse is perfectly familiar with just how strong Gabe is after years of training together, he still lets out an whispered "Jesus Christ" when Gabe carries him over to the bed and tosses him down on it. He practically tears Jesse's clothes off, and then his own, and is climbing onto the bed before Jesse can finish gaping at his dick and pins him down for more kisses. 

Every gasp and shudder Gabe can wring out of Jesse is a triumph, and boy is Gabe feeling triumphant. He learns quickly that Jesse's eyes roll straight into the back of his head when his nipples are played with, and spends minutes on them, tweaking them and rolling them between his fingers, sucking and nibbling on them, all while he strokes Jesse leisurely, tightening his grip every so often when it looks like Jesse's going to go over the edge. He's edging Jesse for the fourth time when he's almost shoved completely off the bed. 

"God damn, you fucking sadist."

Gabe laughs and gets a pillow to the side of the head in reply. 

"You gonna torture me all day or you gonna stick your dick in me?"

Gabe makes a show of deliberating, which Jesse does not appear to appreciate. "Ask nicely," he says, and gives his cock a languid stroke. Jesse's eyes follow the movement of his hand. He licks his lips and gives Gabe his biggest puppy dog look. 

"Please, papi, fuck me?"

Gabe's cock twitches in his hand, despite his attempt at a poker face. McCree grins in triumph. "Or will I just have to fuck myself?" He asks, his voice dripping in a parody of innocence.

Room service has delivered a tube of travel sized lube the night before, bless them. Gabe leans over Jesse to pull it out of the bedside table. "How do you like it?" Gabe asks. Jesse's eyes are locked onto his dick as he slicks himself up, so Gabe makes a show of it, pulling the foreskin back nice and slow and letting the pre drip along the shaft. 

"Jesse?"

"Huh?"

"How do you want it?"

"Uh, doggy style."

"Turn over then." 

The sight of a naked McCree ass up on the bed, cock dangling between his legs and hips wiggling, is a blessed sight, and just one of many this morning that Gabe knows will make for a fond memory for years to come. It only takes a little bit of prep work before Jesse's insisting that he's ready, and then Gabe is pushing in, slow and steady, his every sense tuned into the man below him, reveling in every twitch and grunt and flex of muscle. After years of practically living in each other's pockets, Gabe is learning Jesse anew, and the idea of that is almost as exhilarating as the feel of Jesse around him, slick and tight. He learns that Jesse's voice goes up an octave when he's got just the right pace set, and that he doesn't hesitate to beg for kisses. He learns the feel of Jesse's dick in his hand the feel of the hair on his chest. He learns that McCree goes completely boneless after he's come, but somehow manages to be ready for a second round within fifteen minutes. They roll around in bed the entire morning, pause to enjoy a brunch of steak and eggs, then roll around in bed some more. By the time they're done even Gabe is starting to feel exhausted. 

"I feel like we shoulda done this a lot sooner," Jesse says as they smoke on the hotel room's balcony. They had managed to drain the shower of hot water and are lounging in nothing but underwear and bathrobes. 

"Sometimes things happen when they should." Gabe replies.

"Never took you for much of a fatalist. Anyway, bet I'd have a lot more diamonds if I'd played my cards right earlier."

Brat. Gabe thinks. But that does remind him. He makes his way back inside and finds the last box in his luggage, then goes to rejoin Jesse. "Speaking of diamonds," he says, and drops the box on Jesse's lap.

"You're kidding. More?"

"I don't half ass things."

"Guess not," Jesse says, and tugs the box open. Inside glints two pistol shaped cufflinks, with diamonds playing at being grip screws. Jesse's laugh is tinged with disbelief.

"You're kidding me. When the hell am I ever gonna wear these?"

"Pull the diamonds out and melt them down for all I care. They're yours."

"Damn," Jesse says, and leans forward for another kiss.


End file.
